Affair (31 page)

“And if it’s not?”

“Someone may get killed.”

Charlotte folded her hands very tightly together. “Your plan will work.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence. Hamilton certainly entertains doubts.”

“Precisely what is your plan, Baxter?”

He smiled wryly. “Nothing very bold or exciting. It is based on my knowledge of chemistry.”

“Then I’m certain that it will prove very bold and exciting. Indeed, it will be quite brilliant.” She paused. “It would be interesting to witness the results.”

He raised one hand in a gesture that was both a warning and an appeal. “Don’t even consider the possibility of attending the duel. I will have enough to worry about as it is.”

“I suppose that is true. What sort of man is this Anthony Tiles?”

Baxter sipped his brandy. “He’s a bastard.”

She smiled wryly. “Which sort? Born or made?”

“Both. His father was a viscount. Heir to the Coltrane fortune. Anthony was born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say. The result of his father’s affair with the family governess. There were no legitimate sons. A nephew got the title and the estates. The knowledge of all that could have been his has eaten at Tony for years.”

“You sound as if you know him.”

“We were acquainted at Oxford.”

“If he was a friend once, can you speak to him?”

“It wouldn’t do any good.” Baxter went to stand at the window. “Tony clings to an extremely rigid code of honor. He will tolerate no slight of any kind.”

“I see.”

“He spends his time in the gaming hells and stews looking for trouble. He encounters it with amazing frequency. He has at least three duels under his belt. Probably more.”

“No wonder Hamilton is terrified for his friend.” She tightened her hands. “This Anthony Tiles started life in much the same way you did.”

Baxter braced one fist against the mantel and gazed into the fire. “We are both bastards, if that is what you mean.”

“But he has become a bastard by deed as well as by birth,” she said quietly. “You, on the other hand, have made yourself into a true gentleman.”

He looked up swiftly. Firelight glinted on the lenses of his eyeglasses. “What the devil does that mean?”

“Anthony Tiles has obviously allowed the facts of his birth to set him on a path that is almost certain to destroy him. Thank God, you have carved out a different destiny for yourself.”

“Hmm.”

“Your father knew that you had become a man of integrity. He realized that he could entrust the family fortune and the safety of his younger son to you. He must have been exceedingly proud of you, Baxter.”

Baxter said nothing. He watched her for a long while and then, without a word, he turned away from the fire and dropped down onto the sofa. He kept one booted foot on the floor and angled his other leg across the cushions. Wearily he shoved his fingers through his hair.

“When this business at dawn is behind us, I intend to find that bloody quack who calls himself a magician. I do not like these experiments of his.”

Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair. “Baxter, you will be careful tomorrow, won’t you?”

“I’m not the one who must face Tiles’s pistol if things do not work out as I have planned.”

“I know you too well to believe that if something goes wrong, you will simply stand back and allow Hamilton’s best friend to be shot down in cold blood.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Promise me that you will not do anything that might cause this Anthony Tiles to turn against you and perhaps challenge you.”

A fleeting trace of amusement hovered at the edge of Baxter’s mouth. “Don’t concern yourself. I vowed years ago never to get myself killed in anything so stupid as a duel.”

“I am pleased to hear that.” She smiled in spite of her uneasy mood. “Poor Baxter. All you asked was to be left alone in your laboratory but you’ve been forced to emerge from it in order to deal with all of these vexing problems.”

He raised his brows. “There are problems and there are problems.”

“What does that mean?”

He put down his unfinished brandy and got to his feet. He went to where she sat in front of the fire and gently drew her up out of the chair. “Some problems are vastly more interesting than others.”

“Am I a problem for you, then, Mr. St. Ives?” she asked softly.

“Yes.” He bent his head and crushed her mouth beneath his own.

Fifteen

His need for her swept through him in a wave. He cradled the back of her head in one hand and kissed first her lips and then her throat.

Would she always have this effect on him? he wondered. One moment his thoughts were focused on the problems of murder and a duel, the next he could think of nothing but the bone-deep satisfaction of having Charlotte in his arms.

He was slowly growing accustomed to the unsettling effects of passion, Baxter thought, but he was no closer to understanding it tonight than he had been at the start of this affair. The mystery of the thing was as strange and compelling as any alchemist’s quest for the Stone.

“Baxter?” Charlotte grasped the lapels of his coat. “Is there time?”

He raised his head just long enough to lose himself
for an instant in the fathomless green promise of her eyes. “Not as much as I would wish.” The truth of his own words struck him in a searing flash of understanding. “Bloody hell, there is never enough time.”

“It’s all right.” She brushed her lips across his chin.

“And there is always the possibility that someone may walk in on us.” He cast a baleful glance around the small study. “What’s more, there is never a bed in the vicinity.”

“Baxter—”

“How the devil is one supposed to conduct a proper affair when one does not even have a bedchamber at one’s disposal?”

She pressed her face into his shirt and began to make soft, muffled sounds. Her shoulders quivered.

Alarmed, he pulled her closer and patted her awkwardly. “Good God, Charlotte, don’t cry. I shall think of something.”

“I’m sure you will. You always do.”

The muffled sounds against his chest grew louder. Her whole body shook beneath his hands. He realized that she was giggling.

He put his thumbs beneath her delicate jaw and raised her head. The warm laughter danced in her eyes.

He did not require Hamilton to point out the obvious. No man who possessed even a spark of romantic sensibility would have wasted time complaining about the inconveniences of the situation at a moment such as this.

“I’m delighted that you find it so amusing,” he muttered.

“I find it fascinating. Thrilling. Unbearably exciting.” She stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Hard and very enthusiastically.

He silently consigned his own glaring lack of a romantic soul and the assorted inconveniences of the situation to the devil.

The feverish need returned in a tidal wave that flooded his senses. “Why is it,” he said against her mouth, “that I cannot seem to get enough of you?”

Charlotte did not respond. She was too busy unknotting his cravat and peeling off his shirt and coat. In a moment he was bare to the waist.

Her fingers brushed against the old acid scars. She pressed her lips to his savaged shoulder and kissed him gently. Baxter had to close his eyes against the deep longing that welled up within him.

He drew a breath, steadied himself, and then unfastened the tapes of her gown. Slowly he lowered the bodice and watched as the firelight turned her elegant breasts to gold.

She touched the corner of his mouth. “When you look at me in that manner, you make me feel quite beautiful.”

He shook his head, dazed by the storm of emotion that pounded through him. Reverently, he brushed his thumbs across her nipples. “You are beautiful.”

“And you, sir,” she said in a soft, husky voice, “are quite wonderful.”

He groaned and lowered his head to kiss the high curve of one rounded breast. She gripped his shoulders very tightly. Her head fell back. Clinging to him with both hands, she slid the sole of her slippered foot slowly up along the length of his calf. When she started to move it back down to the floor, he closed one hand around her thigh and held her pressed warmly against him. The skirts of her gown swirled around his breeches.

He could not wait another moment. He lifted her
into his arms and settled her on the sofa. He stood back long enough to unfasten the front of his breeches and then he leaned down to push her skirts up to her waist.

Very deliberately he parted her thighs until her left foot was on the floor. She gasped when she realized how completely open she was to his gaze. Belatedly she tried to close her legs.

“No. Please. I want to see you.” He went down on one knee beside the sofa. He felt her leg tremble against his ribs.

He put his palm against the warm, pink flesh of her sex. She shivered. On the floor beside him, her foot arched in response to the caress.

“Baxter?” The tip of her tongue appeared at the corner of her parted lips. It disappeared again when she moaned softly.

He leaned forward to inhale the exotic perfume of her body. She glistened in the firelight. He parted the soft folds of skin to reveal the tiny bud.

He bent his head and kissed her intimately with exquisite appreciation.

“
Baxter.
” Her fingers tightened in his hair. “Good heavens, what are you doing?”

He ignored her breathless query and all the disjointed demands for an explanation that followed. He used his tongue to arouse the small nubbin until it was taut and full. He did not pause until she was speechless.

When she screamed softly and dug her nails into his scalp he rose quickly and settled himself on top of her. He licked the taste of her from his lips as he plunged into the tight, hot core of her body.

She convulsed around him, drawing him so deeply inside that he thought he might somehow become a part
of her. In the alchemy of that union he was no longer alone.

Everything within him went rigid. In the next moment his climax roared through him, a searing, cleansing fire that somehow left him free in a way that he had never known.

T
he incense smoldered on the brazier.

He inhaled slowly, deeply, savoring the heightened level of awareness. The power would soon be his to command.

He was ready.

“Read the cards, my love,” he whispered.

The fortune-teller turned over three cards. She studied them for a long moment.

“The golden griffin draws closer to the phoenix,” she said at last.

“This grows more fascinating by the hour.”

“And more dangerous,” the fortune-teller cautioned.

“True. But the danger adds a certain element of interest to the thing.”

The fortune-teller placed another card on the table. “The griffin’s connection to the lady with the crystal eyes grows stronger.”

“We must conclude that she is not a random thread in this tapestry, after all.” He was pleased.

B
axter?” Charlotte stirred languidly. She threaded her fingers through the hair on his chest. “It is getting late.”

“I know.” Reluctantly he shifted position to untangle himself from the froth of her skirts. He got to his feet,
adjusted his breeches, and glanced at the clock. “Less than an hour until dawn. Must be on my way. Hamilton will be anxious.”

Charlotte sat up quickly and fumbled with the bodice of her gown. “What about poor Norris? I should think he would be the nervous one.”

“Haven’t seen him yet.” Baxter reached for his eyeglasses, shoved them on his nose, and then grabbed his shirt. “Hamilton says he’s very calm about the whole thing.”

“Perhaps the fact that he’s in a trance accounts for his unnatural calm.”

“Bloody magician. Got a lot to answer for.” Baxter scooped up his coat and swung around to say farewell. The sight of Charlotte looking deliciously disheveled made him wish very badly that he did not have such a pressing appointment. “I shall send word when the thing is finished.”

“Be careful, Baxter.” The last of the sweet sensuality disappeared from her eyes as she rose from the sofa. “I do not like this. It has been a strange night. There is something that I did not get a chance to tell you.”

“I shall call on you later this afternoon.” Baxter broke off as he caught sight of a wilted red rose lying on the desk. “There’s that damned flower I saw you carrying earlier at the ball. Meant to ask you about it. Got distracted. Who gave it to you?”

“It’s a long story. It can wait until you’ve resolved Hamilton’s problem.”

He did not care for the troubled expression in her eyes. He crossed the room and plucked the rose off the desk. Then he saw a folded piece of paper beneath it. A chill crawled across the nape of his neck.

“What’s this? A note, too?”

“I assure you, there is no call for jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous. I do not possess the hot-blooded nature required for such a ludicrous emotion.”

“Indeed.” She looked pensive. “I do, you know.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” he asked as he unfolded the note.

“I would hate it if some woman sent you flowers or gave you letters.”